Yesterday's Tomorrow
by littlemissfalloutboy
Summary: “I don’t really like you.” She flashes him a smirk, not unlike his and stands up. When he chooses not to reply, she walks away from him.“James!” He calls out. She stops but doesn’t turn. “I don’t like you either.” This time their smirks are simultaneous
1. Chapter 1 That Other Girl

**Title: **Yesterday's Tomorrow

**Author:** Mihika (littlemissfalloutboy)

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Nathan/Haley

**Spoilers:** None – Completely AU

**Warning:** Use of strong language and references to drugs, alcohol and sexual situations.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the clothes on my back and my trusty computer.

**Chapter 1 – That Other Girl**

"_Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most." _

– _Maryanne Williamson_

As human beings we are always looking for approval. Whether we're six years old or sixty five, all we want is for someone to notice us, to smile when we do something, to tell us "I'm so proud of you!"

For some of us, however, there comes a time in our lives when we stop looking for the approval. We give up because it's no longer worth it. Simply because no one else seems to care.

Haley never used to be that girl. But things change. People change.

Three years ago, her mother died. Plain and simple. She was a depressive and eventually it got the best of her. She grieved for months - crying and locking herself inside her room as though that would shelter her from the truth. And then, one day, the day Haley finally left her room, she was a different person. It was like she left the old Haley behind the door. The Haley who helped people, who blushed when someone told her she'd done something great. The Haley who smiled.

Now Haley is that other girl. The one who every girl's mother tells them not to talk to. The one who gets called 'easy'. The one who steps on her cigarette with high-heeled boots in the middle of the street, like she thought she'd only ever see in the movies.

Somewhere along the way, while she sat in that room, crying, everything Haley cared about slowly slipped away with her tears.

That's why, at seventeen, she has a tattoo on her left wrist that reads 'screw it' and her best friend alternates between Jake (the guy she first did a line with) and the ever finishing bottle of tequila. It's also probably why she's currently sitting in a lawyer's office with her father.

The lawyer shuffles some papers, and drones on about how irresponsible it was for her to be cruising down the street in someone else's car with a bag full of marijuana in the back. She smirks at this and by the look on his face; it isn't the response he was hoping for. Her father just sits in the chair next to hers, looking pissed off and asking 'when this will be over'. Haley taps her fingers on the lawyer's desk and rolls her eyes. A few phone calls later, the lawyer informs the two that a court date has been set for next Tuesday, and that they better be there. Haley nods uninterestedly and saunters out the door. Her father walks out behind her, yelling that she's now cost him a fortune in lawyers' bills. Haley flashes him her middle finger and makes her way to the bus stop.

It's Tuesday morning. An alarm sounds and Haley curses as she pushes back the covers and stumbles out of bed. Glancing at the clock; it reads 7:00 AM. Too early to shower, she tells herself. She picks up a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans from the floor and pulls out clean underwear from her drawer before heading in to wash her face. About an hour later, she's dressed and ready. Downstairs, her father sits at the breakfast table and she greets him with a surly 'good morning'. One black coffee, a power bar and only a minor argument later, they slam their way out the front door.

So it's been decided. She has to do five a month's worth of community service at the North Carolina Correctional Facility for the Youth. Basically, a month in a shit hole. Haley argues with the judge. It's not like she killed anybody. Why can't she just stay in Tree Hill and do the community service? The judge informs her that she's just earned herself another month at the facility in Raleigh. Fuck, she mumbles to herself, slumping back in the chair. Just fucking great.


	2. Chapter 2 The Art of Conversation

**Chapter 2 ****– The Art of ****Conversation**

"_I meant what I said and I said what I meant" – Dr. Seuss_

The air is sticky. Her hair is loose and clings sweatily to the back of her neck as she sits Indian style on a bench. She blows a smoke ring; it looks carefully crafted, as if she has spent hours perfecting it. Turning the page of her book with the same hand that holds a cigarette, she reads on, while tapping at the cigarette lightly, letting the ash fall. A shadow falls on the ground in front of her, in the shape of a man, but she doesn't look up.

"The _Great Gatsby_? You don't strike me as the intellectual type."

Still not tearing her eyes away from the page, she replies, "And that doesn't strike me as your run-of-the-mill pick up line, but hey, things aren't always as they seem."

"What makes you think it was a pick up line?"

"Well there was that weird way that you stood, which is how guys stand when they try picking up a girl. And then, of course there was that cocky smirk. No explanations required there."

"What are you, a psychoanalyst? Besides, how do you know I was smirking, you didn't even look up."

Finally, she looks up. To no surprise, she is greeted by a smirk planted on the face of a rather – she must admit – good looking guy. "I'm right anyway. So how does it matter?"

The guy chooses to ignore this last comment, instead sticks out his hand. "Nathan Scott."

She does not return the favour, instead questions, a slight, but still apparent playfulness in her tone, "Now what makes you think I wanted to know that?"

"Most girls do."

"I'm not most girls."

"Yeah, I figured that when I saw you sitting here alone wearing shorts – even though it is November and cold – and reading The _Great Gatsby_ while blasting rock music from your iPod."

"What's wrong with rock music and reading?"

"I just never thought the two went together."

"That's another thing to add to your list of the ways in which you're wrong."

"There's a list?"

"Have you seen yourself? There has to be a list."

For the second time that day, he chooses to ignore her comment. "So now that I've introduced myself ever so politely, aren't you going to?"

"I don't see the need to."

"But I did."

"But I didn't ask you too." However, a few seconds later (and she knows she'll ask herself why later one), she looks him straight in the eye and says, "Haley James."

"And what are you doing here, Haley James?"

"I stole a car and then drove around in it with a bag of marijuana."

"Nice."

"What did you do?"

"Killed a guy."

Haley raises one eyebrow, clearly not convinced.

"Fine, I vandalised a school. I also had a couple of drug dealing stints."

"You got any on you?"

Sarcastically he replies, "Yes because that it the sort of thing they allow in a correctional facility."

"Who says they have to allow it?"

"And there's another thing for me to add to my list about "Haley James: Bad ass". She's a rule breaker."

Haley laughs a little. Her stomach grumbles then, and now it's Nathan's turn to laugh. "Do you want to go to the cafeteria? We can grab a bite to eat. How long before your break ends?"

"I don't start until tomorrow. I only just got here. Besides, I wouldn't want to eat with you anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't really like you." She flashes him a smirk, not unlike his and stands up off the bench. She's almost a foot shorter than him but her body language doesn't belittle her in any sense. She challenges him silently, one eyebrow raised, hands on hips, the whole shebang. When he chooses not to reply, which she has come to realise is his way of subtly giving in, she walks away from him.

"James!" He calls out, not having moved from his earlier position. She stops but doesn't turn back. "I don't like you either."

This time their smirks come simultaneously.


	3. Chapter 3 Rhythm of the Rain

**Chapter 3 – Rhythm of the rain**

"_The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with nature." – Joseph Campbell_

She's never liked the silence; it's deafening to her ears. There is no sound at all and yet there is so much noise. She sighs for what she thinks must be at least the seventeenth time and looks over at the clock, next to her bed. It, with its large red numbers, mocks her. 1:30. If she goes to sleep now, that will give her five hours of sleep. Of course the problem is, she'll never actually get to sleep.

201, 202, 203, 204... 205 freaking sheep have jumped over that stupid, white fence and she's still awake. However, before she can continue on her quest for sleep, she hears a soft pattering at the window. Gingerly, she pulls back the grime covered curtains. Rain, as if dancing, is splashing softly at her window. She climbs out of bed, straightening her oversized 'Foo Fighters' shirt and slips on flip flops. She reaches into a bag for her cigarettes – momentarily forgetting that they were confiscated by a counsellor when he saw her smoking. When her hand finds nothing, she sighs, cussing under her breath. She creeps along the floor towards the door trying her hardest not to wake her roommate. They met the day before and nicely put – they did not like each other. Shutting the chipped green door behind her, she steps out onto the small porch. A ceiling lamp flickers above her and then stops, leaving the porch in an orange dim. She sits down on the damp steps, pulling her legs up to her chest. All this while, the rain continues to patter gently, in a perfect rhythm, never missing a beat.

It's times like these, alone in the rain, when that other Haley, the old one -- seems to show up. Maybe not of all of her, maybe not completely, but she's there. She's there in the silent tears that Haley cries, now, in the thump of her heart, in the rain. And now the tears flow freely, in a perfect rhythm, never missing a beat. There are no memories in her head, no flashbacks, because she won't let there be. It's like the old Haley is pushing her way out but this one is keeping her locked up.

And then, the rain slows to a drizzle. It stops. And that other Haley, the old Haley, she's gone. This Haley shivers a little. She thinks about going in for a jacket but she's glued to the spot. Her eyes are wide open, more so than before -- if that's possible. But she no longer waits for sleep, instead scared to sleep, for reasons she herself knows nothing of.

She hears leaves crunch. Pebbles are kicked haphazardly. Her subconscious tells her it could be one of the counsellors and that then it will mean a private session apart from all the other ones she has to do anyway. But still, she doesn't move. Her eyes remain fixed on a small pool of water on the bottom step in front of her. There is a crack in the step, and the water slowly seeps into it, becoming less visible to her by the second.

The step she is on, creaks and she can hear another person's breath beside hers. She looks up, her curiosity getting the best of her. It's him. The one from earlier that day, or rather, yesterday. He's looking at her and she notices his blue eyes. She looked at them yesterday but she didn't see them. Now she sees them. She notices small specks of green in them, intangible to those who look but so brilliantly obvious to those who see.

He says nothing, silently watching her face, noticing her tear stained cheeks. He hands her a cigarette. She doesn't ask where and how he got it, only holding it up for him to light. He flicks the lighter and a small yellow flame emerges. Holding his hand around it, sheltering it from the breeze, he lights her cigarette up. For just a moment their faces glow in the light of the flame and he notices her raw beauty. Then the breeze is too much and the flame is blown out. He stuffs it in his pocket, and she takes a slow drag, before letting it out slowly, savouring it. She shifts a little and their arms brush. He feels her goose bumps and reaches beside him, covering her shoulders with his jacket. She does not thank him. She does not even look at him. She instead, leans into him burying her body in his much larger one, breathing in a smell of smoke and _Old Navy_. This means nothing of consequence. She is not his girlfriend. She is not his friend. She does not know him. But for now their hearts thump together; in a perfect rhythm, never missing a beat.


	4. Chapter 4 Badass

_"It's the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time." – Tallulah Bankhead_

A neon glow floods the room. It gives the place a definitive 'cheap motel' vibe. From one side of the room a groan sounds followed by muffled but distinctive cursing, as Haley buries herself further and further under the covers. On the other side, a girl smirks. From far, she seems pleasant enough with her red haired bunched on top of her head and grey striped pyjama bottoms trailing the floor. On closer inspection, however, it is hard to miss the fake breasts and perfectly sculpted nose. Also, that smirk is anything but friendly.

"Rise and shine sweetheart!" calls out the redhead, her accent mock southern, her tone high-pitched, obviously put on just to aggravate Haley. Haley responds with a snarl as she throws off the covers. This, though, does nothing to bother the redhead as she saunters into the bathroom, a pair of jeans and a top flung over one shoulder. Climbing out of bed, Haley marches over to the bathroom. Upon arriving at its door, eyes still shut, she bangs on it. "Whore, if your $$ is not out of the bathroom in five minutes, I will personally come in and pull it out, no matter how the gruesome the sight before me is!" Her tone is menacing and the fact that sleep still sits smack dab in the middle of her forehead does nothing to ease the situation.

About a half hour later, the scowl still apparent on her face, Haley sits in the middle of a crowded dining hall. She looks around. The benches are painted a sort of puke yellow with walls that match. Haley wonders if the decorator might have been blind. She hears laughing to her left and turns to see a group of girls, laughing very openly at her. She isn't surprised that the redhead is leading them on. Rolling her eyes, she can't help thinking that even when she's not in high school she can't seem to escape it. Out of her leather jacket she pulls a book, _'Of Human Bondage'_, and sets it beside her. Then, she plugs in headphones to her new video iPod – her dad's latest bribe – and shuffles through the playlist. The iPod doesn't go unnoticed by the redhead who takes that opportunity to speak up, and loudly, so that no one misses it.

"Look what we have here. It's little miss debutante. Did Daddy throw you out because you were spending all his money on big bad cigarettes? Is that it honey?" Her posse laughs in unison, as if they've been practicing.

To this, Haley just smiles. Standing up, she walks coolly over to the redhead. Leaning in front of her face, she says, "Uh Rachel _honey_, you may want to look in the mirror before calling me a debutante 'cause far as I know, such big breasts didn't come from just a couple of bucks."

This time her posse doesn't laugh.

"Nicely done." Haley turns to her left to find a curly blonde spooning what seems to be grey mush onto her plate. The girl continues talking, "the last time I saw someone diss Rachel so bad was probably me, about a month ago. I'm Peyton by the way."

"Haley James." She's about to say more but a whistle is blown and the woman behind it starts speaking.

"Good Morning to you all. Now, for those of you doing community service today, there will be a bus leaving in half an hour for Raleigh Middle School. There you will each tutor one student depending on your own academic levels in different subjects. If you are unable to tutor because of below average academic levels you will be helping our janitorial staff over there. Now for the rest of you who have been assigned work here on the premises…"

Her voice drones on, but Haley who knows she's doing community service chooses to block the rest out and turns to Peyton. "Who's that?"

"Morgan Allison, director of this place. Didn't you meet her at orientation? I thought that was regulation."

"Yeah well, I'm not an early morning person and so when my dad woke me for it at seven am, I told him to fk off and only to come back once the clock had gone past twelve and he was holding a cup of black coffee. Apparently that was too late. Oh well…" She smirks cheekily.

"James, you're more badass than I thought."

"That's what I've been told."

* * *

Half an hour later, Haley climbs onto a bus which seems to have been painted to match the dining hall. She scours the bus for a seat and her eyes land on one. Unfortunately, it's not completely empty. Even more unfortunate is that its occupant is none other than Nathan Scott. She's just forgotten about the incidents of early this morning and now she's sure her memory will once again be refreshed. Sitting down sullenly, she turns her head away from him and starts reading, hoping that he won't even notice her. Of course, she's never been the kind with luck on her side. 

He smirks in her direction and pulls down the book from in front of her face. "Listen James, about last night – "

She cuts him off. "Nuh-uh. This –" she motions between him and herself, "– it's not happening. What you saw was a one time thing only. It in no way means that we are even remotely close to a friendship of any sort. If you think that I need your shoulder to lean on, or further, your dick to stroke, you're in way over your head. I don't know you and you don't me. Let's keep it that way shall we? Otherwise, you may end up without a dick for anyone to stroke."

"You're feisty." He leans towards her, and whispering in her ear as she gives him a death glare he says, "That's a really big turn on."


End file.
